


Excuse My Charisma, Vodka With A Spritzer

by neighborhoodninja



Series: Challenge Accepted [2]
Category: Olympics RPF, Sports RPF, Swimming RPF
Genre: M/M, idiocy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-23
Updated: 2013-01-23
Packaged: 2017-11-26 16:20:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/652153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neighborhoodninja/pseuds/neighborhoodninja
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael is dumbfounded at Ryan's gullibility. "Oh my god, you're the worst. You know what, just go, please, while I stay in here and die."</p>
<p>Ryan grins like an idiot, and for some reason, Michael always melts. "So, the deal's still on."</p>
<p>"Well, you could say that, 'cause it was never even off in the first place."</p>
<p>Ryan does some little dance that resembles a dougie, then kisses Michael again, more gently this time. "Love you!"</p>
<p>"Yeah, yeah. Love you too." Michael rolls his eyes and punches him in the arm affectionately, feeling himself blush just a little bit. That tends to happen whenever Ryan says that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Excuse My Charisma, Vodka With A Spritzer

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Lil Wayne's 6 Foot 7 Foot.  
> http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vb7KlYXn0UU  
> Also I was watching Gossip Girl reruns over weekend and...

Michael always hates Speedo benefit parties.

 

They serve these stupid little hors d'oeuvres, like half a shrimp on a piece of lettuce. As if one of those would sustain an Olympian for 30 seconds. Once, he and Ryan just grabbed the whole tray, snarfed it all down, and handed it back to the stunned waitress, asking for seconds.

 

Speaking of Ryan, where is that moron? Michael thinks to himself as he smiles blandly for the billions of cameras trained on him. 

 

Then that "moron" struts into the room, wearing leather pants, and _fuck_.

 

Michael grins apologetically for the photographers, fights his way through the swarm amid shouts of "Wait! Mr. Phelps!" and lands safely outside their circle. After he gets his bearings, he can just feel a pair of blue eyes boring a hole into his back, and a cough comes from behind him. Michael turns around to see Ryan hastily jerk his gaze away from the direction of his, er, derriere, suddenly becoming very interested in the tomato and tofu kebab display next to him.

 

According to US Weekly, they're supposed to be feuding, so Michael just lifts an eyebrow and turns back around tp answer some dumbass reporter's question about what brand his suit is.

 

After he backs off, though, Michael knows that Ryan's still staring him down, and fuck this, they aren't teenagers, so he turns slowly, dramatically around, meeting Ryan's eyes.

 

Probably not the most educated decision.

 

Ryan's eyes have a distinctly predatory glint to them, and Michael gets the feeling that Ryan's nzot going to settle for anything less than taking proper advantage of him tonight. He gulps and loses track of what he's supposed to do next. Ryan smirks and uses the small window of time to lope toward Michael and envelop him in a "we're just friends, y'all" embrace.

 

"WHADDUP, WHADDUP, MP! What's SHAKIN', BACON?!" He yells obnoxiously in Michael's ear, slapping his back.

 

Michael has no choice but to retaliate by shouting, "YO, YO, YO, DOGGY! What's CRACKALACKIN'?!" in Ryan's face and karate chopping his arm. Two can play at this game.

 

Ryan squints aggressively, and Michael just squints back. They stand there, squinting at each other, for at least ten seconds, then Ryan opens his mouth again, and it's on. 

 

"BROSEIDON! What's JANGLIN', PLAYA?!"

 

"DUDESTER! What it DO, HOME SKILLET?!"

 

"What's COOKIN', GOOD-LOOKIN'?!"

 

"What's POPPIN' DROPPIN' LOCKIN', MUCHACHO?!"

 

"SALUTATIONS!" They scream together, then look around to see that they've successfully creeped out every single person at the benefit.

 

Oops. So much for their, uh, feud.

 

"Well…" Ryan says cheerfully, grabbing Michael by the waist and swinging him around toward the food table. "It's established, then. I'm taking you back to my hotel when this whole thing is over."

 

"Oh ho ho! Wait just a minute here! When was that decided?" Michael says as he gets ten of the biggest kebabs he can find and hands five to Ryan. 

 

"Um, I totes screamed louder than you. Accept it." Ryan declares, scooping up two random beers and shoving the smaller one into Michael's hand.

 

"Even if you did, which you so fucking did not, I already have a ride back to MY hotel, so screw you." Michael says, chomping down on a tomato sassily. Juice squirts into Ryan's face. "Ha."

 

"Worst argument possible. Overruled by Justice Reezy." Ryan scoffs, running his tongue up and down the kebab skewer.

 

Not to be outdone, Michael wraps his mouth around the neck of his beer bottle and sucks it for a solid minute before replying, "Fine. Maybe, but you have to work for it."

 

Ryan fist-pumps and knocks a passing dignitary over the wine counter in the process.

 

Typical.

 

After he's finished apologizing and kissing the old man's feet in shame, Ryan pops back up hopefully. "What do I have to do?" He asks, trailing Michael over to the rows of seats where people are about to start giving long, boring speeches. Michael can just see his ears perk up and his tail start wagging.

 

"Let's see. You need to: a, calm down, b, not barge into anyone else and kill them, and c, keep your paws off me for the rest of tonight. There."

 

"Well. We can work with that. I don't know about c, but…" Ryan sees the look on Michael's face. "Okay, okay. Deal. Shake on it?"

 

"Deal." They sit down next to each other just as whoever it is rich-important-guy starts to ramble on about the integrity of the sport of swimming, the genius of designers at Speedo, etc.

 

Ryan makes it through two of these orations before he starts getting hands, occasionally twitching his fingers toward Michael's leg, but then grinding his jaw and pulling farther away. 

 

Michael is seriously about to crack up at this heroic display of self-denial, when suddenly his name is called and he has to go onstage to say good stuff about good stuff.

 

The spiffy looking host claps a hand on Michael's shoulder, giving him a smile that clearly says "don't fuck this up, kid." "Michael, you're one of the greatest swimmers of all time. How does it feel to swim in the sport's premier brand, Speedo?"

 

"Wow, I can't even find the right words to describe it. You feel like you're going miles faster than you should be, and the whole experience is just essential to any swimmer." He gives a stock answer, complete with gracious smiles and head nods.

 

"So it really makes that much of a difference."

 

"Oh, of course. It really does…" Michael starts, but then his eyes fall in Ryan, who is making faces and coughing and squirming and in general being a huge (sexy) distraction. "It really doeszkzchpblm-" he splutters as Ryan grins and blatantly adjusts himself. Thank god he's siting on the end.

 

"What was that, son? Couldn't hear you there."

 

"Um, uh, um, yeah, it does." Michael mutters, cheeks reddening as Ryan licks his lips and leers at him.

 

"Mr. Phelps, how does the Speedo LZR compare to other major-brand suits?"

 

"Oh. it's so much bettERAAAAHH- " Michael manages, which is pretty damn good considering that Ryan has just mimed taking his ass in his hands, shoved his hips forward, and blown a kiss. Screw this. "WearSpeedosthey'reawesomeandbyethankyoueveryone." Michael chokes into the microphone and sprints offstage, ignoring the host's outraged look.

 

"You. Bitch." He hisses in Ryan's ear as soon as he returns, red-faced, to his chair.

 

"Well, you didn't say I couldn't do _that_ , soooo…" Ryan cackles at Michael's horrified expression.

 

"You…you…I can't even. I'n calling off the deal."

 

Ryan's eyes widen, and he actually looks worried. "What? No! You can't!"

 

"Ah, but I can." Michael smirks as Ryan grips his arm.

 

"Fine, if you're going to be like that, you little…" And suddenly Ryan's pulling him out of his spot and shoving him in the general direction of the bathroom.

 

"Whoa! Holda minute- " Michael pushes back as inconspicuously as possible, because people are starting to look at them, but Ryan has the advantage. Before he knows it, they're in an expensive, mahogany, satin-toilet-paper-style bathroom stall.

 

Ryan pins Michael against the door and kisses him hungrily, running his tongue over Michael's teeth. His hand is starting to work its way down his torso, but Michael's head clears and he stops it.

 

"Hey there. Do you even realize what you're doing, dog?"

 

"Dude. You called off the, uh...agreement, so we're gonna have to take care of things in here." Ryan says seriously, like this is the only possible way.

 

"You know, I didn't actually mean that." 

 

"Huh?!"

 

Michael is dumbfounded at Ryan's gullibility. "Oh my god, you're the worst. You know what, just go, please, while I stay in here and die."

 

Ryan grins like an idiot, and for some reason, Michael always melts. "So, the deal's still on."

 

"Well, you could say that, 'cause it was never even off in the first place."

 

Ryan does some little dance that resembles a dougie, then kisses Michael again, more gently this time. "Love you!"

 

"Yeah, yeah. Love you too." Michael rolls his eyes and punches him in the arm affectionately, feeling himself blush just a little bit. That tends to happen whenever Ryan says that. "But anyway, thanks for dragging me in here in front of everyone, douche. How are we gonna get out without, like, looking like we just made out?"

 

Ryan clears his throat importantly and adjusts Michael's crooked tie, smooths down the front of his shirts, and runs his hands through Michael's hair once, then does the same to himself. "There."

 

"Alright. I'll go out before you, because I, um, exhibit a bit more self-control." Michael pointedly eyes the bulge in Ryan's pants.

 

"Oh. Ha. Yeah, you'd better."

 

Michael goes over to the door, cracks it open an inch, and peers out. He'd just watched Skyfall a month ago, and had decided that Daniel Craig was the dude to be.

 

"Coast is clear. Here goes."

 

"Hey, I read that if you blow a guy before stressful situations, it helps to calm him down. You wanna try- "

 

"Don't even start, Lochte." Michael says dryly. "Stay there for about five minutes."

 

"Roger that."

 

And of course, the second Michael's safely outside the bathroom doors, Ryan comes bounding out, crashes into him, and makes them both faceplant into the red carpet.

 

"FIVE- MINUTES- "

 

"Aw, don't be like that. You know you love me. XOXO, Reezy."

 

"We were trying. To be. Discreet. And did you honestly just quote Gossip Girl at me?"

 

"Bah. Discreet. Haters gonna hate, potaters gonna potate."

 

"Okay, I don't even know how to respond to that."

 

"No, dude, Gossip Girl is an amazing show. I love the Summer, Kind of Wonderful episode where Chuck and Blair-"

 

"I REALLY don't give a fuck, thank you."

 

They struggle up off the floor and Ryan's expression suddenly turns, like, nauseous or something.

 

"Gotta pee."

 

"What?" Michael gapes. "Why didn't you do that in there, instead of, oh, like, mowing me down in front of the entire population-"

 

"Didn't have to go then. See ya." Ryan waves and dashes back into the bathroom, door slamming behind him.

 

Michael shakes his head, sighing, and heads over to the dog-pile of journalists he knows is waiting for him around the corner.

 

They make it through the rest of the evening staying an appropriate distance apart, but Michael still has to ward Ryan off occasionally. The man really is a dog. At one point, Ryan can't stand it anymore he's getting so fucking bored, and pulls his phone out to frantically text Michael.

 

[Ryan 8:01  
DUDE DYING HOW MUCH LONGER]

 

[Michael 8:01  
Calm down 15 mins]

 

[Ryan 8:02  
HB NOW????]

 

[Michael 8:03  
NO Learn ur boundariz]

 

[Ryan 8:03  
just cnt wait to fck ur brains out :D]

 

[Michael 8:04  
S  
T  
F  
U  
And wats w emoticon O__o ლ(ಠ_ಠლ)]

 

[Ryan 8:05  
(✌ﾟ∀ﾟ)☞]

 

[Michael 8:05  
ᕦ(ò_óˇ)ᕤ]

 

[Ryan 8:05  
8===  
guess XD]

 

[Michael 8:06  
OK  
WE'RE DONE HERE  
(╯°□°）╯︵ ┻━┻]

 

[Ryan 8:06  
Just u wait insolent wretch ill tch u]

 

[Michael 8:06  
Wowww big words]

 

[Ryan 8:06  
Cmin over 2u get reddyyy]

 

[Michael 8:07  
WAT  
NO  
GO AWAY WHERE RU  
DO NOT]

 

But he doesn't have time to swivel around and see Ryan creeping up on him, and by then it's too late.

 

"HEY HEYYYY!" Ryan yells, wrapping his arms around Michael from behind and lifting him at least a foot off the ground, the cameras already starting to snap away. 

 

"Okay, you need to stop." Michael mutters, smiling blandly as he wiggles away from Ryan. "Seriously, when TMZ gets wind of this…"

 

"Let's gooo. I'm so fucking bored." Ryan gripes as he tows Michael toward the exit. Michael rolls his eyes and looks around for some sort of distraction.

 

"Look, Ryan! Sparkly!" He whispers emphatically, and Ryan pivots around, whipping his head back and forth.

 

"Whoa! Where the hell!"

 

Ryan looks behind him to see Michael springing madly out the door. "Hey! Get back here, Phelpsicle! Why, you- " He shouts, leaping around and following him as fast as he can.

 

Michael looks back to see a furious-looking Ryan Lochte bearing down on him. "Oh, shit- " is all he gets out before Ryan yells, "Geronimo!" and sends them both crashing on to the ground outside for the second time that day.

 

"Twice in four hours…" Michael gasps out as Ryan tosses him into the passenger seat of the car that is conveniently waiting for them in front of the hall.

 

"Don't worry, babe. No such thing as bad publicity." Ryan smirks at Michael's expression, then climbs into the driver's side and speeds away.

 

Ryan pulls into the VIP Parking section of a Hilton ten minutes later, after groping Michael at every red light they hit.

 

"Classy." Michael snorts, and Ryan slaps his ass in response as he gets out of the car.

 

"Silence, slave." Ryan mutters, pushing Michael through the doors. "I own you."

 

Michael rolls his eyes dramatically, but allows Ryan to feel superior and manhandle him into the elevator. Unfortunately, Ryan doesn't last until the twelfth floor before shoving him against the elevator wall and roughly kissing him, and, well, Michael can't help but go along with things for a while. Ryan's hand is at the waist of his pants when the door dings and slides open for an offended-looking old lady standing outside. Michael looks over. registering that there is a person who just saw them MAKING OUT, and he throws Ryan off him, face burning.

 

"Oh, oh, uh, hello, ma'am." He squeaks, scampering out of the elevator, Ryan hiding behind him. Coward. The lady just harrumphs and walks in, punching her bony finger onto the "close door" button.

 

Michael jerks around in fury, but no Ryan. He looks toward the end of the hallway and sees Ryan's grinning face disappear around a corner.

 

"What?! Fuck! Get back here!" Michael hurries down the hallway and skids around the corner. A hotel room door is swinging ajar, and he assumes that Ryan's hiding in there.

 

"Lochte…" Michael growls, closing the door behind him as a precaution. It's kind of dark in there, and things could get frisky, like they usually do. He's about to make some wonderfully snarky comment about the condition of things (underwear hanging off of a doorknob) when Ryan pounces. 

 

He just leaps out of the shadows, crashing into Michael and sending him flying backward onto the bed.

 

"How- " Michael croaks, holding his destroyed hip. 

 

"Stealth is key. Now, off with these clothes of yours." Ryan smirks, already working on Michael's zipper.

 

"Cutting to the chase, are we…" Michael says, pretending to be affronted as Ryan rips off his shirt. "Indecent exposure!"

 

"Quiet, underling." Ryan commands, pressing a kiss to Michael's lips as he tugs his pants off, along with his underwear.

 

Michael snorts, because Ryan seriously has some sort of dominant-submissive complex, or he's re-read his deluxe edition of Fifty Shades of Grey for the hundredth time, but then Ryan lets out a laugh.

 

"What? What?" Michael checks around himself for something stupid.

 

"I just…I like this setup. You're, like, totally all naked and helpless right now. I swear…" Ryan grins. "You're such a fucking slut sometimes."

 

"Excuse me? Did you just call me a slut? You did, didn't you?" 

 

"Well, I mean, take those pants you were wearing today. They were, like ten sizes too small."

 

"Uh, dude, look who's talking. At least they weren't _leather_." Michael scoffs.

 

"Everyone knows that it's a trend this season. All over the YSL runways." Ryan says with dignity, sniffing slightly. Then, it's as if he suddenly remembers that Michael doesn't have any clothes on. 

 

Smiling in a way that makes Michael feels like he's about to be eaten alive, Ryan leans down and softly drags his teeth over Michael's neck.

 

"But we're getting off topic, aren't we?"

 

Well, finally.

 

Michael lets his hands slide under Ryan's shirt and up his back, suppressing a smile as he hears Ryan's low groan. He feels Ryan bite down gently on his bare collarbone.

 

"I think… I think that you should take these off." Michael says, looking up into Ryan's eyes and running his hands down his sides. Ryan is quick to respond, stripping out of his clothes and tossing them into a corner. He immediately drops his lips back down to Michael's neck and sucking on a spot right under his jaw until a soft moan slips out of Michael's mouth.

 

Michael travels his hands down Ryan's tanned, muscular torso and makes a small noise of appreciation as Ryan suddenly bites down again when his fingers press into his abs. Michael can feel Ryan's dick pressing against his hip, and he grinds up on Ryan, breath hitching at the feel of it. Ryan strokes him suddenly, nuzzling below his ear, and Michael moans again, getting impatient. Ryan really need to start fucking him right this second, or he's gonna _explode_.

 

"Lube?" Michael murmurs, shuddering as Ryan's hand makes its way up the inside of his thigh, the other rubbing along his hipbone.

 

"Spit." Ryan supplies, tapering off into a deep groan as Michael grinds against him again, pulling his hips down between his thighs. He sucks on two fingers, then spreads Michael's legs apart with his one hand. 

 

Michael winces slightly as Ryan's fingertip presses inside, but is soon blissfully distracted by the pleasure it causes when Ryan presses deeper. He moans desperately, letting his eyes slide closed, as Ryan crooks it, slipping another inside.

 

"Jesus, MP…" Ryan grits as Michael almost writhes under him, a small gasp coming out when Ryan's fingers brush over his prostate. If Michael keeps up with those fucking noises he's making, he won't be able to last much longer. "I need to…"

 

Michael reaches a hand up and tangles his fingers in Ryan's hair, bringing Ryan's mouth down to his own. He twines an arm around Ryan's neck and pulls him closer, giving his consent.

 

He feels Ryan pushing slowly inside him, letting out a low groan as he enters Michael fully. Michael moans softly as Ryan's lips kiss a path down his jaw to his neck with his first thrust, marking the side of it with a hickey.

 

"Ryan…" He gasps as Ryan's hips find a steady rhythm, hitting just the right spot every time, thrusting into him. It's been too long since they've done this together. Since Ryan's done this to him.

 

Ryan almost comes from hearing Michael moan out his name as he fucks him harder, and he can feels Michael's heel dig into his back, legs sliding up and around his waist. He jerks his hips forward and Michael cries out with the motion, heel pressing down again. The familiar pressure builds in his lower body as he thrusts faster, panting along with Michael, who is making these small, desperate moans of pleasure with each forward rock of his hips. "Fuck, Michael, shit, fuck," is all he can manage as he presses deeper into Michael, coming with a deep groan. His hips buck one last time, and Michael moans and scrapes his nails down Ryan's back as he comes, arm tightening around Ryan's neck.

 

Ryan pulls out and unsticks his body from Michael's, panting and flopping down next to him on the mattress. They just lay there and breathe heavily for a few minutes, incapable of doing anything else.

 

Finally, Michael's brain returns from its swirling rainbow of happiness long enough so that he's able to form sentences, or at least words.

 

"Well, that was…" he trails off, closing his eyes.

 

"Fun." Ryan finishes for him, wrapping an arm around Michael's waist and pulling him closer. "How 'bout you stay the night, and the night after that, and the night after that, and we can…" He nips at Michael's neck, marking him with another hickey, and Michael smiles to himself, pushing Ryan's head away. "…we can have more fun." 

 

"Puh-lease. I've have a plane to catch." Michael laughs at Ryan's downcast pout. "Don't worry, I'll come down to Gainesville sometime. Then you can have all the fun you want with me."

 

Ryan grumbles and trails a hands over Michael's hip, reaching around to grab a handful of his ass. "No. Fun tomorrow."

 

Michael giggles as Ryan smushed his face into his shoulder and bites gently, reaching a hand around and pulling the sheets around them. "Nope. You'll have to wait." He yawns, linking an arm with Ryan's and turning onto his side to face him.. He doesn't know why, but whenever they sleep together, Michael always does this. Some sort of fucked-up insecurity thing, probably, he thinks to himself. But Ryan's warm and his body fits with Michael's like a puzzle piece, and it's better than the time Ryan tried to spoon him (Michael ended up on his butt on the floor many a time that night).

 

With one last noise of disappointment, Ryan falls restlessly asleep listening to Michael breathe, the cogs in his brain whirring furiously.

 

 

The next morning, Michael wakes up to find Ryan snoring loudly next to him, one arm thrown around his bare hips. Michael smiles to himself and slips quietly out of the bed, pulling his clothes on as noiselessly as possible. He writes a hasty note to Ryan as he sneaks out, sticking it on the door of the hotel room.

 

He feels kind of guilty on the courtesy-of-Speedo ride to the airport, but pushes his thoughts away. Ryan is a big boy. He can handle his urges by himself.

 

Michael spies a Starbucks in the atrium of the airport before he checks his bags in, and heads over to buy out the place. In the end, he only ends up getting a mocha, but the flustered barista ("H-hello, Mr. Phelps, what may I get you) charges him five freaking dollars. 

 

Michael reaches into the back pocket of his jeans to find his wallet.

 

And doesn't feel it in there.

 

He frowns, reaching into his jacket pocket, but it's not in there either.

 

No wallet, no plane ticket.

 

Heart pounding, Michael flashes back to the hotel room. Could he have left it in there?

 

"Shit." He mutters, already starting to rush toward the exit. "Cancel that!" He shouts back to the poor cashier. Cussing under his breath, Michael feels blessed by the Lord Himself when he sees his driver still pulling out of the airport drop-off. "WAIT!" 

 

"The hotel, please." He gasps as soon as he throws his body into the limousine, and it must be something in his voice, because the driver floors the gas pedal right away. Michael looks desperately at the clock on his phone. His flight is in twenty minutes. 

 

They finally stop in front of the Hilton, and Michael yells a thank you behind him as he trips out of the car and sprints through the hotel doors. He gets too impatient waiting for the elevator and dashes up the twelve flights of stairs. That mocha could really have come in handy now.

 

Michael drags himself breathlessly down the hallway to Ryan's room. "RYAN!" He screeches, pounding on the door. Ryan, looking like he's just woken up, opens it at least one minute later and feigns surprise.

 

"Why, Mich- "

 

"No time." Michael pushes past him, eyes traveling frantically over the room. "Wallet."

 

He's flattened out on the floor and looking under the bed when Michael hears a snickering behind him. 

 

Michael slowly flips upright and swivels around to see Ryan holding his poor wallet captive between two fingers, a huge, mischievous grin on his face.

 

"Looking for something?" Ryan bursts out laughing as Michael's jaw drops. Then Michael is a blur of fury and he's being tackled onto the floor, wallet ripped from his hand.

 

"HOW. DARE. YOU." Michael is ready to murder him, seriously, because who the fuck does this man think he is, then yelps as Ryan rolls them over and nips at his bottom lip playfully. "Get off! I just missed my fucking flight, you- "

 

But his rant is stoppered immediately as Ryan captures his lips with a rough kiss, slipping his tongue inside. Michael can't help but let his eyes slide closed as Ryan deepens the kiss for a second, then snaps back to how angry he's supposed to be.

 

"Stop! I'm still mad, dickhead!" He turns away, pouting slightly and trying to look as enraged as possible with Ryan's big blue eyes staring down at him. "This is all your fault."

 

Ryan grins, climbing off of him and lazily tossing his head. "Please. You know you love me. XOXO- "

 

"DON'T." Michael sighs, sitting up and running his hands through his hair. "God, the next one isn't for, like, ten hours…"

 

Ryan smirks, leaning in and brushing his lips over the hickey he left on Michael's neck from the night before, one hand sliding under Michael's bent legs.

 

"What are you doing- " Michael begins, but then Ryan's heave-ho-ing him off the floor and dumping him onto the bed. He lands safely on the mattress just before Ryan climbs on with him. "HEY!"

 

"I'm just showing you what we can do in ten hours." Ryan says, like this should really be obvious by now, and leans down to kiss him again, more gently than before.

 

And Michael just isn't able to resist Ryan Lochte, never has been able to, never will.

 

"You honestly just stole my entire wallet to lure me back here…and the first thing you do is this. Of course. How did I guess?" He sighs, even though he feels the start of a smile at the edges of his mouth.

 

"Jeah, I did." Ryan says against Michael's lips. "Got a problem?"

 

"Nope."

 

And Michael isn't surprised that, well, he really doesn't.


End file.
